To Build A House
by The Red Hoodie
Summary: It's senior year and everything is fine. Except that it isn't, but it will be. Or that's what Stiles keeps telling himself. And there's only one person who can make sure that everything really will be fine.


**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters or the places unique to these fandoms. I do own any original storyline ideas that come up within this writing.

**Title:** To Build A House  
**Author:** The Red Hoodie  
**Rating: **M  
**Ship:** Sterek  
**Summary:** It's senior year and everything is fine. Except that it isn't, but it will be. Or that's what Stiles keeps telling himself. And there's only one person who can make sure that everything really will be fine.  
**A/N:** Post S2. THERE IS NO ALPHA PACK. But everything else follows the finale. Um…I got this idea thanks to multiple gif manips about hurt!Stiles and Derek. I thought of this entire plotline/format while showering…because one always gets the best ideas while showering, I mean, c'mon.

Also, if you want to know where I got the fic name from, or want to give yourself some feels, listen to Oberhofer's 'Haus' on repeat, starting about 6 pages in. If you can stand it ;)

PS, only proofed/edited once by me. Any mistakes…ignore. Will fix later.

88

**To Built A House**

It felt like Stiles had been hit repeatedly in the head by a brick or a rock or someone's fist. As if he didn't get knocked around enough during lacrosse. He probably shouldn't have driven home. He almost drove off the road three times.

He noticed his dad's car in the driveway as he hobbled up to the front door. Part of him thought he had a broken rib, but the other part told him he was just hurting so much all over that he couldn't even tell where the pain was coming from anymore.

The second he was through the door, his dad bolted up from the couch.

"Stiles, what the hell happened?" the Sheriff exclaimed.

"Dad," Stiles winced as his father moved his face this way and that. He had seen himself in the mirror in the car. His lip was busted and his cheeks were bruised. Somehow his nose hadn't gotten broken, but the multiple hits to the jaw made his head swim and splatters of blood were drying on his shirt. "It's not like I haven't been beaten up before." True…last time he had come home beaten up by something other than lacrosse had been a year and a half ago. Stiles had lied about who had done it then and he would do it again because he _had_ to.

"Did Derek do this to you?"

"What?" The words brought Stiles' mind to sharp attention. "Dad, no, he would never hurt me."

Concern, sadness, fear…a mixture of all three flashed across his dad's face. "I'm taking you to the hospital." He reached behind Stiles for his jacket.

"Dad," Stiles protested, though he didn't have much strength to do so. "Can't I just shower and sleep?"

"No," the Sheriff said firmly, pulling on his jacket and putting an arm around Stiles' shoulders. "Something could be broken, we're going."

Stiles didn't say anything, trying not to show how much pain he was in as his dad led him out of the house to the car and clicked in the seatbelt like Stiles was a child. He pressed his forehead against the cold window as his dad got in the other side and started driving.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he said.

Stiles closed his eyes and licked his lips, tasting blood. "I uh…I was just in the wrong place," he lied. He didn't know what excuse to give this time. He often got hurt what with his dealings in werewolf business, but nothing this serious. He would have to come up with something big and hope his dad didn't look into it more.

"What happened, Stiles?"

Oh, I dunno, I was beaten up by a group of werewolves. If _only_ he could say that. "Just…people. I don't remember."

"It's the middle of day! How did no one see anything?"

Because they kidnapped me and brought me out of territory limits. "I don't know, Dad. My head feels like it's gunna explode, can we stop with the questions, please?" he snapped. He didn't mean to.

The Sheriff was quiet for a few moments. "If you've gotten yourself into something, you need to tell me."

"I haven't." Maybe…maybe one day he would tell his dad about werewolves, but the lie was two years and counting. He just didn't want his dad to have to worry about it…he didn't want to put even more on his dad than the man already had on his shoulders.

They pulled up to the hospital. His dad helped him out and inside the building. The first person to see them was Melissa McCall, of all people.

"Oh my God, Stiles," she exclaimed, rushing over. "What the hell happened?"

Stiles just huffed and the adults exchanged a look. A few minutes later Stiles was behind a curtain, shirtless and covered in growing bruises.

"Is this a werewolf thing?" Melissa asked quietly as she pressed her fingers against some of the bruises along his ribs.

He winced. "Yes."

"You still haven't told your father." She sounded cross. He had never heard her speak that way before.

"I don't think I can," Stiles admitted, sucking in a breath when she pressed against a particularly sore spot where he swore his rib was broken.

Melissa pressed her lips together. "You should tell him."

It was easier for him not to. Stiles wasn't a werewolf…Scott had it harder, hiding all of this from his mom. But Stiles didn't need his father to worry about him even more.

"It's not broken," she muttered, turning around and pulling over a tray of bandages and things.

Good to know. "I've kept him out of the loop for this long," Stiles said. He eyed the swab she was bringing dangerously close to his face. And then winced as it stung his lip.

"He would understand."

"You think? He won't take me and move? Send me to a loony bin?"

Melissa shook her head. "No. It took some time, but I came to terms with it. If you were to tell him everything, he would understand."

"Or completely freak out," Stiles muttered as she finished cleaning his scrapes and cuts. "I think I can last the rest of the school year. Then off to college and…you know, more ignoring the problem. It's what I do best."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "How does your head feel?"

"Everything just sort of hurts…I don't know what hurts most," he said.

She checked his eyes and told him to not sit still for too long in the next few days so he wouldn't get stiff and make things worse. She gave his dad his prognosis while Stiles pulled on his shirt and jacket—painfully, since moving his right arm sent jolts of pain everywhere—and joined them.

Back in the car, Stiles' eyes slipped closed against the November sun and he heard his dad take in breaths to start a conversation at least fifteen times before he actually spoke.

"Does Derek know about this?"

Stiles swallowed but his throat was dry so he coughed, which only hurt more. "No," he grumbled out. No, because I _can't_ tell him.

"Do you uh…is there a reason?" His dad was majorly cool with the whole Derek thing, but they didn't exactly have big long talks about it. "Did you get in a fight?"

"No," Stiles sighed. They definitely were not fighting. If Derek's birthday last week had any bearing on how their relationship was going, Stiles and Derek were more than fine. "It's not that."

"Well…what _is_ it then?" Stiles should be happy his dad was trying to take a serious interest. Or maybe the Sheriff just wanted to know what the hell was going on with his son and figured Derek had some part in that.

"I just…he would overreact," Stiles breathed out, because it was the truth.

"Overreact?" His dad's voice was raised and Stiles peered over at him with what strength he had left. "Overreact…Stiles, if he cares about you then he has every right to overreact."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, even though it hurt. "Dad," he said softly.

"I know I shouldn't be butting into your relationship," his dad went on. "And your mother would have handled this better than I am, but I just want you to be safe and happy, Stiles."

He didn't want them to, but Stiles' eyes got watery. "Dad…you're handling this fine," he got out as the car slowed and they pulled into the driveway. "I'm just…I'm lousy with the timing. I'm never in the right place at the right time."

His dad just gave him a look—a tired, concerned look—and nodded his head before getting out and walking around the car to help Stiles out. They got inside and Stiles wanted to shower but he couldn't manage to take off his shirt on his own so his dad helped like he was five again and he swore there was just water on his face in the shower when he thought of how much shit he put his dad through without meaning to.

Dressed and feeling like a soggy, walking bruise, Stiles downed the max amount of pills that wouldn't kill him and gingerly lay down on his bed. His dad came in and asked if he needed anything. Stiles asked him to close his blinds because it hurt to move. His dad brushed a hand over his hair and left, shutting the door behind him.

The meds wouldn't kick in for at least twenty minutes. He tried not to move, not to breathe, but it was hard. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking, since he was pretty incapable of turning off his brain on his own.

His dad was worried. He was worrying his dad. He came home beaten up with no answers and the Sheriff was worried. Stiles didn't mean to…but he couldn't tell his dad about werewolves and this whole other world that he was involved in. He desperately wanted to believe Scott's mom about his dad understanding but the Sheriff was a reasonable man and talks about people turning into werewolves and lizards and magic fairy dust wouldn't go over well. Stiles knew that, which was exactly why he had to keep his dad from finding out.

His dad...who wanted desperately to know who had done this to his son. And Stiles, who knew exactly who they were but he couldn't say because then his dad would get in over his head and who knows what would happen. Stiles had to pick and choose his battles with his father; he wouldn't tell the Sheriff about the werewolves who beat him up because he would go after them and end up hurt or dead. This wasn't a fight for the Sheriff…no, this…this was completely a Derek and Stiles thing.

Speaking of Derek…that was exactly why this had happened. Not that Stiles was blaming him or anything, no, it wasn't Derek's fault. It was Stiles' if it was anyone's. He was being stupid and going around town without a werewolf escort like he'd promised. But Jackson was holed up somewhere with Lydia and Scott and Isaac were at the lacrosse practice that Stiles decided to skip. Stiles had a life; he had things that he had to do that didn't need to be supervised by werewolves. Or so he had thought. He would think better next time.

Slowly the pain began to ebb away from him and he managed to roll over onto his stomach and stick his good arm under his pillow and squeeze his eyes shut. He wasn't tired…he was just so sore everywhere.

He and Derek didn't _just_ happen. It was all sort of fuzzy where things had changed between them, but it started junior year, after Jackson turned into a werewolf and Lydia learned about everything and Allison and Scott were broken up. It was Peter's idea, actually, to rebuild the Hale house. No matter how mysterious Peter coming back seemed, turns out that he just didn't want to die. He was a bit selfish and apathetic, but he didn't try killing anyone.

Stiles…Stiles had kept away mostly. There was a full on wolf pack now, with Derek, Peter, Isaac, Jackson, Erica, Boyd and even Scott, who didn't want to admit that he really _was _part of Derek's pack. And that was all well and good, but Stiles was a bit shaken up from a lot of things, too many things, happening at once and opted to become friends with Allison instead. It was all sort of weird, with Stiles trying to distance himself from werewolves and ending up spending a lot of his time with Allison and Lydia.

He wasn't complaining. Allison he could relate to, and Lydia…well he still loved her. Or…so he thought. And now they actually spent time together. Lydia asked lots of questions that Stiles knew the answers to. So he might have fallen deeper into his obsession—because it really was an obsession, now that he thought back on it—because of that and gotten into a dangerous mindset.

School was starting in a week when she had _the talk_ with him. They were all together. Like _everyone_. The whole pack, along with Lydia and Stiles; Allison was at a therapy session so she was absent. Stiles wasn't sure if she would have come anyway. They were at the Hale house, which was now just a foundation and floor and a bit of scaffolding. It looked so bright and fresh without all the charred blackness.

Peter was actually cooking things on a grill as if he hadn't gone on a murdering streak and died a handful of months ago. Lydia was staying away from him, to say the least. There was somehow a picnic table and Jackson, Scott, Boyd and Isaac were tossing around a football. Derek was the only one doing work, hammering together a new set of front steps so they could at least get to the first floor. Erica was sitting next to him, handing him nails.

"I need to talk to you," Lydia had said, sitting down next to Stiles. He was sitting on the tabletop, she sat on the bench.

"Okay." He nodded, glancing down at her and rubbing his palms together.

"I know…I haven't just been ignoring how you feel about me," she started, sounding unsure, which was a weird thing for Lydia because she was always so sure.

Stiles swallowed. He didn't know what to say because he knew exactly where this was going. She had Jackson, there was never going to be anyone else…that sort of thing.

"I wish I could feel the same way, but I can't," she continued, voice getting stronger. She even pushed herself to her feet and stood in front of him so he was forced to look at her, into those gorgeous green eyes and hear this. "You say you love me, but you don't even know what that means, Stiles. You've never been with someone that you care for and holding onto me with this infatuation is not good for you. You need to move on. Because I know that you can."

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. "You love Jackson."

"Yes. I do."

"And I've got no chance?"

"Not in the way you want it," she said honestly. "Stiles, we can be friends. I've enjoyed talking to you over the summer, really."

"Yeah." He glanced down and then over at the football game—he had called it a game of fetch before and all the wolves had glared—and then back at her. "You…you know everything now so there's no need for me to protect you anymore."

She gave him a sort of sad look and took a step back. "I consider you one of my friends, Stiles." She tried. She really did.

"Yeah, sure." He had brushed her off, hopped off the table and wandered around the woods for a while until he heard the sounds of food being served in some werewolf smorgasbord. He ended up sitting on the new steps with Derek. It wasn't for any reason other than he knew that Derek had overheard and wouldn't say anything. Not to mention the picnic table was tiny and only four people could fit sitting on the benches. Everyone was sitting around the slopped yard as if this wasn't the place where Peter had _died_ in January.

Stiles had gotten over the whole Lydia thing. Really, he just had to see the hard reality of it and knew that she loved Jackson and that was fine. It took a while, but he kept telling himself that she was happy and that's what he wanted. Because she was…Jackson was a completely new person since become a werewolf. He wasn't a douchebag anymore, he was genuinely good to Lydia and everyone else in the pack. Even Stiles.

Stiles even forced himself to scour the school for anyone else he found attractive and could possibly try talking to or ask out or something, because Allison said it would help. Right, because she and Stiles were still talking and friends. Scott didn't mind, he actually liked to ask Stiles about how she was doing. It got annoying after a while, but then the two of them were able to start talking on their own and slowly make their way back to being friends.

Stiles wasn't so lucky. Everyone around him were werewolves. He was losing his best friend. No really. Scott was spending more time with Isaac than Stiles now. Scott didn't even mention anything when Stiles started skipping lacrosse practice. He only did it a few times—because Coach remembered how he'd played in the championship and wanted him to try out for co-captain—but Scott didn't seem to notice.

His group of friends was dwindling down to Allison and half of Scott. Sometimes Danny, who was going to find out about werewolves sooner or later, Stiles could feel it. Now that a good portion of the lacrosse team were supernatural beings and all.

The anniversary of his mom's death came and went and Scott almost forgot, which put a kink in their friendship. The Sheriff did better this year than he ever had. He and Stiles went out to eat at her favorite restaurant and there was minimal drinking that night.

It was Danny who noticed something was wrong with him at lunch the next day. And it was Scott who told him why. Because all of them sat together now. The whole wolfpack and a handful of humans which included Stiles, Lydia, Allison and Danny.

"That really sucks, I'm sorry," Danny had said. Scott had that look on his face…the one that told the whole table that he knew how much trouble he was in for forgetting and not even talking to Stiles the previous day.

"It's fine," Stiles had said. "My dad was good this year."

"Stiles," Scott tried to apologize. Stiles should have let him, but he didn't.

"Danny, are you ever gunna answer my question?" Stiles changed the conversation to something less emotional, what with all the werewolves around. They were getting better at using all their senses and Derek said they could start understanding the feelings off of the people around them soon if they just learned to concentrate.

"Which one?"

"C'mon, you know the one. About me being attractive." Most of the people at the table groaned then and Danny rolled his eyes. "C'mon, man, we can't be friends unless you answer."

"Have you been hitting on my best friend?" Jackson asked from his end of the table. His arm was across Lydia's shoulders, their fingers intertwined.

Stiles shrugged. "I just need someone to answer my question and Danny is gay so he fits the criteria."

"Fine, if I answer, can we stop talking about it?" Danny wasn't that big of a sharer, to be honest. And Stiles couldn't blame him. He wasn't really friends with more than half the table. Yet. "Okay yeah…you're not unattractive, Stiles. But you're not my type."

Stiles made a face. "See, was that so hard?"

Danny found out about werewolves a month later on Halloween. Because that year had to be extra cheesy and have a full moon on the actual All Hallows Eve. But Danny was a rational guy and Jackson was his best friend and he wasn't _stupid_. He took everything in stride after seriously thinking about it for a few days. It was good. Now everyone at the lunch table was in on the werewolfness and Stiles could be even more open with Danny and there bloomed an odd but lovely little friendship that was direly needed because Stiles was around way too much estrogen.

But before all of that about Danny finding out, Stiles started going to the Hale house. For no real reason but he was bored and Scott was always doing some training thing with Isaac—and sometimes Boyd and Erica and Jackson too—and so one day, after school, he found himself parking his Jeep and walking through the preserve, over the creek and toward the house. It wasn't like he had never been here before, but it was weird being alone and it was light out and the house was…well it was just some stairs and a floor and a few corner beams and some more wood nailed together to form skeleton walls.

"What are you doing here?" Derek had asked, appearing out of nowhere. Seriously, he could hide anywhere, even in a house without walls.

"Uh." Why was he here? "Everyone is busy." He waved his hands around a bit and walked up the makeshift front steps. It was weird…there wasn't a porch yet and everything was just so…bright. "So uh…need any help or…I dunno." Stiles had stopped trying to live a wolf-free life come the end of the summer, and it had been two months, but still, he wasn't quite feeling like he even fit in their world anymore.

Derek stared at him for a full minute before blinking and stepping back out of the makeshift doorway. Stiles took a step onto the new floor. "I have to map out the rooms," Derek said, walking through the maze of walk-through-able walls to someplace on the right side of the house behind the large empty space where the staircase to the second floor would go. "This is the kitchen."

Stiles noted that there were no outer walls and henceforth, no plumbing or electrical yet. Derek and Peter hadn't done much with the place since starting it in June. Then again, there had been almost a full month of tearing it down and cleaning up the foundation before they could even put down the floor. It was a slow, painful process. Stiles wasn't sure it was the best thing to be living where so many people died, but maybe it would be a good healing thing that Derek could use. "It doesn't look like much," he said with his usual tone of sarcasm. "Is this supposed to impress me?"

"Do you want to help or not?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. What do you want me to do? Pick paintcolors or…?"

"Figure out where everything should be," Derek finished for him. "I'm not good at this."

"And you think I am? Why not ask Lydia or…okay you know what, we can do this." Because Stiles _could_ do this, right? He'd been in enough people's homes to know what a kitchen looked like. Derek pulled over a blueprint—which wasn't blue, by the way, it was on white paper that was like waxy so things could be written down and smudged out—and showed Stiles which box was the kitchen. Then they got to work.

And it continued, about every other day or so, and sometimes two days in a row. Stiles would come and more things would be done or changed. It went on for a month. Halfway through, Peter hired someone to put together the second floor properly, all skeleton-y again. That was the day that the Sheriff followed Stiles.

It wasn't that he didn't trust his son, Stiles guessed, but Stiles hadn't been spending really much time at home or with Scott, so he had trailed Stiles to the Preserve and caught up with him in the woods. Stiles had no choice but to bring his dad over to the now-two-story Hale house. Or…the bones of it. Peter wasn't there, but Derek was, and he was on the phone and looking angry.

"You've been building a house with Derek Hale?" his dad had asked as they stood on the edge of the clearing of trees. His dad's hand was heavy on his shoulder and his eyes were on Derek.

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out.

"You…you've been coming here for weeks."

"Yup."

"Is there a reason…?"

Stiles didn't know how to explain any of this to his dad. "We just…all of us, the whole gang that I know I've told you about—" or he was just hoping he had, "—we hang out here because…well we just do. Derek isn't so bad."

He could nearly see the steam pouring out of Derek's ears.

His dad didn't seem to agree.

Derek finally ended the phonecall, took a breath to calm himself and looked over at the Stilinskis. "Did you bring your dad along to help?" Derek asked. He wasn't as calm as he sounded. Stiles remembered him fidgeting. And Derek Hale did not fidget.

"No," Stiles stepped forward and jerked a finger over his shoulder at his dad. "He trailed me…'cause he's a cop, you know. Wanted to know where I've been spending all my time." He turned to look at his dad then and held out his arms. "Hey look, I'm helping build a house, not doing drugs or getting involved in a sex ring or something. You should be proud."

"I'm not sure if proud is the right word."

"Dad, c'mon, building a house…especially this one, is like a community service, wouldn't you say?" Stiles hadn't dared to look at Derek to see what his face was doing after being called a community service.

"The house of an ex-convict," the Sheriff stated, as he would, because he _was_ the Sheriff and Stiles was his son.

"Uh…emphasis on the ex," Stiles pointed out.

"Stiles is here on his own free will," Derek said in a weird choice of words. It was probably a wolf thing.

Stiles' dad turned his sights on Derek. "I should be worried that you let a gang of teenagers congregate at your home."

"Not my house," Derek half-lied. "On my property, the Hale property." He had actually started to say 'Hale territory' but corrected himself. Which was good. Because that would have led to awkward explanations as to why Derek was so weird and that was not something Stiles wanted to have to explain to his dad.

"Yup," Stiles nodded, hoping his dad didn't drag him away embarrassingly. He didn't. The Sheriff said a few more mild warnings before telling Stiles to be home for dinner and leaving.

Derek didn't say anything about it and just walked into the house, leaving Stiles to follow. And they just did more house stuff, just like any other day. They installed the banisters on the main stairway with much bickering and a handful of splinters.

Three days later, Danny found out about werewolves. It might have been Erica's idea to go around town scaring kids with their actual wolfed out faces, and something happened and BAM, Danny was in the loop. It was a relief, actually, since he and Stiles had gotten to friendly terms by then, and now without that big lump of a barrier, they could be the human dudes of the pack. Derek didn't seem to mind, but maybe it's just because Peter said something to him about strength in numbers, even including humans.

When Danny first met Derek, he asked, "Isn't that your cousin?" Stiles felt the ghost of pain as he remembered his face being smashed into a steering wheel and glanced over at Derek. No one else knew what they were talking about.

"He's not my cousin," Stiles said, clapping a hand on Danny's shoulder and spoke quieter, as if there weren't a bunch of werewolves standing around who could hear every word. "I might have lied about that. Don't blame me, I was in a sticky situation because of werewolf business."

A few days later, Stiles had done _something_ to his Jeep and it was in the shop. His dad dropped him off at school and he was going to ask Danny for a ride home. After the bell rang and he raced outside, he saw Derek sitting in his Camaro in front of where the buses were lining up.

"Get in," Derek had said and Stiles had hesitated only a second before getting inside. His bag crowded his feet and he fidgeted in the seat.

"Where are we going? Why are you picking me up from school?" Stiles asked. Not that he minded, Danny wasn't exactly the world's safest driver.

Derek gripped the steering wheel, jaw clenched in annoyance.

"Uh…are we not speaking? Use your words, Derek."

"There are people at my house."

"People? Like, what kind of people? People-come-to-kill-you-people?" Stiles didn't think so…ever since Gerard Argent had died, Chris had taken over the family hunting business and sent away most of the hunters who had come with Gerard. So needless to say, things had been quiet in Beacon Hills.

"No," Derek growled. "People to…work on the house."

Stiles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Oh. Well that's cool. I mean, it's not like we can do _everything_." He glanced at the road, wondering where they were going.

"Are you hungry?"

"What?"

Derek glared out the windshield.

"Uh…sure, I guess."

A minute later they were parked in front of some diner and Stiles was scrambling out of the car after Derek.

"What's wrong with people being in your house?" Stiles whispered—thinking back, he didn't know why he whispered, it wasn't like they were talking about werewolves—as he stopped next to Derek at the front and a waitress told them to sit anywhere.

"I just don't like it," Derek had said, sitting a booth.

Stiles sat opposite him and tapped his foot against the tiles. "Okay. But…what're they doing? The walls or the roof or…?"

"The walls. Plumbing, electricity."

The waitress came over with menus even though the only good things to eat here were the burgers and fries. That's what they ordered. Stiles leaned forward against the table.

"That's good though. If they're pros then they won't mess it up. You'll actually have a working house."

Derek narrowed his eyes at the salt and pepper shakers. "Peter…he hired them."

"Is _he_ there?"

"Yeah."

"Why aren't you?"

"I don't…I can't stand the thought of strangers in my house."

Stiles frowned and scratched his chin. "Oh. Right. Uh…I get it, really. Look, they're doing what…four outer walls and all the electric and plumbing? That shouldn't take that long."

"Three days."

"Oh. Are you…where are you going to stay? Back underground?" Stiles gave him a disapproving look.

Derek gave him a mild glare across the table. Stiles chuckled and held up his hands. "Hey, you're the one not talking. I only have my own educated guesses to go on here."

"I'm staying at Peter's apartment," Derek said as the food was brought over. He ate like a dog. You'd think someone was trying to steal the food off his place the entire time.

Stiles talked through the whole meal about making sure Derek got all the right things for the house once they put up the inner walls and how everyone should be put to work with the painting and the girls should be asked about the decorating.

"Uh…so do you mind dropping me off at my place?" Stiles asked when they had cleaned their plates and were back in Derek's car.

"What happened to your Jeep?" Food seemed to have loosened up Derek a bit. Which was fine with Stiles…actually, either way was fine because he had no problem filling up the silence.

"I…broke it," Stiles said lamely. He didn't want to actually vocalize how he had done it; it was stupid and humiliating.

Derek actually let out a breath that sort of sounded like a laugh, but Stiles was never sure.

His dad was at work, so the driveway was empty when Derek pulled up to the curb. Stiles grabbed the strap on his bag and reached for the door handle before pushing himself outside. "Thanks for the ride," he said, leaning down so he could see Derek. "And the food and stuff."

"Yeah." Derek was never good with the talking thing.

Stiles bobbed his head and shut the door and started toward his house. He expected Derek to leave right away, but he glanced over his shoulder halfway to the front door and the Camaro was still sitting there. Frowning, Stiles tossed his bag close to the front door and walked back to the car. He tapped on the passenger window.

"Uh…are you actually waiting for me to get inside before you leave?" Stiles asked when Derek rolled down the window. "I mean, I'm flattered and all, but it's still daylight, I think I can handle myself."

Derek tried to keep his face in check, but ended up just looking confused and Stiles sighed. He jerked a finger over his shoulder.

"Why don't you come in?"

Derek didn't actually agree, but he pulled the Camaro into the driveway and Stiles grabbed his bag and unlocked the door, leaving it open for Derek, who walked in like it was a glass house and he shouldn't be breathing.

"Dude, relax," Stiles chuckled, walking farther into the house. "We can watch a movie so…" He motioned to the couch. "Make yourself at home, I'll be right back."

Stiles hadn't seen it, because he was upstairs, but Derek took off his jacket and hesitated before hanging it on a hook by the door and ran a hand across the top of the armchair and eyed the photos on the mantle. Photos of baby Stiles and his parents, of his dad and his mom, one of him at Christmas with a baseball mitt bigger than he was and another of the three of them when Stiles was ten or so and his mom was a bit thinner and paler.

When Stiles came back downstairs, sans jacket and bookbag, Derek was sitting on the couch. "We've got Netflix so…" He grabbed the remote off the table and turned on the TV before grabbing the game controller from his Xbox and plopping down next to Derek. "Do you even _watch_ movies?"

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes. Laura liked to go to midnight showings."

Stiles nodded slowly as the red screen popped up. "I've got to do some stuff, but just use this to find something you want." He shoved the controller at Derek, who looked at it as if it were some alien device. Rolling his eyes, he showed Derek how to move the joystick through the selections and how to pick one before standing up to do things around the house.

Things that included making sure there was something in the house he could make for his dad for dinner. There wasn't…but they could order take-out. Then he had to drag the bills folder down from on top of the fridge and make sure there was enough money in the bank to write some checks. He poked his head into the living room to see if Derek had picked a movie.

"Oh, dude, have you seen Terminator?" he asked, because that's what was highlighted on the screen.

"No."

"Have you been living under a rock?" Stiles sounded horrified. "Pick it. You've gotta see it, otherwise I will punch you. And it will hurt me more than you."

It took a few minutes, but Stiles got everything sorted, bounded up to his room and came back down with a textbook and notebook under his arm. He sat next to Derek on the couch—Derek had assumed control of the middle cushion and had his arms out to either side along the back, so Stiles was sort of forced to sit close to the werewolf—and put the books on the sidetable.

"What're those for?" Derek had asked. It was probably the first time he had ever taken any interest directly in Stiles' life.

"In case I get bored. Or no…not bored, but I've seen the movie about eight hundred times and so I can spare some time to do some homework." He had promised his dad he would get his grades up this year. It was junior year…grades were important and Stiles was just too scatterbrained to get A's all the time, but he was _trying_.

It wasn't weird that Derek's arm was across the back of the couch either. Mostly because Stiles sat forward through the whole movie, elbows on his knees, pointing and exclaiming at certain scenes and ruining a few that hadn't happened yet. Derek stayed pretty stone-faced through the whole thing, and halfway through Stiles tugged his textbook onto his lap and flipped through pages and glanced up at the screen to add some commentary here and there between scribbling notes in his notebook, which was sitting precariously on the arm of the sofa.

It all had felt weirdly normal.

Sarah Connor was in her truck, recording tapes to her future baby that would save mankind—hypothetically—and the screen went black and the credits began to roll and Stiles looked up, pen cap between his teeth.

"What did you think?" he asked around it, glancing over at Derek.

"It wasn't bad."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever have anything interesting to say?" He closed the textbook and shoved the cap back on his pen.

"It's my birthday," Derek said finally.

Stiles looked over at him as if he had just said the sky was green. "What?"

Derek narrowed his eyes. "You heard me."

"It's your birthday?" Stiles hastily piled the books on the coffee table and jumped to his feet. "Dude, why didn't you say anything?"

"I just did."

Stiles frowned, brow furrowed in concentration. "Stay…right there," he said, before disappearing into the kitchen. There was the clatter of a dish against the counter and crinkling, followed by the sudden scent of sulfur and Stiles walked back into the room, plate in hand. And on that plate was a pile of three Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and a lit candle shoved into them.

"You've got to be kidding me," Derek groaned the moment his laid eyes on it.

Stiles grinned. "Shut up, you know you want it." Derek rolled his eyes when Stiles sat on the coffee table and held out the plate. "C'mon, blow it out and make a wish."

He wasn't sure if Derek actually would, but a moment later the candle was out and Derek was looking at him oddly from across the makeshift birthday cake. "Uh…saving the candle for next year," Stiles said, plucking it out and shoving the plate into Derek's hands. "Those are for you."

"I don't—"

"Eat the friggen chocolate, man," Stiles cut him off.

Derek grumbled, but he ate his birthday sweets. "I already regret telling you this."

"I have an impeccable memory, don't think for a second that I'll forget next year," Stiles half threatened. But he couldn't keep a straight face for long and eventually sniggered and took the plate back when Derek's phone rang.

Stiles stood and backed out of Derek's way when he got to his feet and went to the door, saying nothing, but listening to whoever was on the other line. Before he hung up, Derek let out an annoyed breath.

"I'll be there soon," Derek said, hanging up and slipping his phone in his pocket as he grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door.

"Who was that? Did something bad happen?" Stiles asked, standing there with an empty plate in hand, suddenly worried.

"Jackson broke something and it didn't set right," Derek said, pulling on his coat.

Stiles' eyebrows raised. "That can happen?"

Derek looked over at him. "Yeah, it can happen." Then he opened the door and left without a goodbye.

Stiles blinked at the door and his phone buzzed against his leg. He juggled the plate and the phone as he walked into the kitchen. It was Scott.

"Hey," he answered.

"Hey," Scott mirrored. "Where did you go after school?"

"Uh…" Stiles put the plate in the sink and licked the chocolate and peanut butter off the candle before shoving it back into the box. "Home. Why?"

"Just making sure…"

"Why? What happened?" His eyes flashed to the door that Derek had just walked out of.

"Just another hunter in town. Who doesn't like to follow the code," Scott sighed.

Stiles ran a hand over his hair. "Why do they even have codes if no one follows them?"

"I dunno. Just…stay inside tonight."

"Yeah." Stiles hung up and stared at place where Derek had sat for two hours. "There's no need to worry, Stilinski. They're werewolves…they'll be fine."

Four days later he went to the Hale house after school, with his Jeep fixed. The place actually looked like a house now. It had all its outer walls and a stack of doors and windows leaning against one side. The roof was there, but it wasn't shingled. Derek was around the back of the house, putting on the bunker doors that led down to the cells underneath.

"Hey," Stiles said, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the chill. "Do you really even need that dungeon under there anymore?"

Derek hadn't said anything, staying crouched.

"Okay…not talking today, it's cool." Stiles glanced around, eyeing the gaping holes in the Tyvek covered walls. He tried to imagine the house in any other color but dark grey and failed. He couldn't picture white siding or blue or green. "Can I help? Or…do you want me to help?"

Derek stood up, eyes set on the drill in his hands. "You can go, Stiles," he said.

Stiles frowned, wondering what he'd done wrong, but he doesn't ask because he doesn't want to sound like a girl. "Okay, sure," he nodded and started to walk around to the edge of the house.

"Stiles," Derek said just as he rounded the corner. Stiles poked his head back around the house. "You don't have to come here after school anymore."

Stiles swallowed something like hurt and shrugs. "Okay." He walked silently to his Jeep, wondering why the fuck this bothered him so much.

He stopped going to the Hale house, except when the others went. He talked to Danny, trying to get him up to speed on everything wolfy, but Stiles found himself mostly talking about Derek and how he was so moody and ridiculous. Danny never said anything to suggest he _knew_, but Stiles figured he did, thinking back.

Stiles actually started up a conversation or two with a few girls at school. He suddenly had jock-status, and while he was no captain—that was Jackson—girls no longer dismissed him. It was weird, but sort of good. It was _normal_ at least, because he told his dad about it when he asked and his dad seemed happy about it.

Thanksgiving break came and Lydia had her typical party the following weekend. The whole wolfpack went. Stiles was asked by a girl, Heather, to take her. Like as a date, which was a new thing. But she was pretty, with skin like caramel and green eyes—like Der-Lydia—so he said sure. They went, and there was drinking and everyone was super horny because it was the day before the full moon and Stiles was just horny all the time so he made no objections when Heather shoved her tongue into his mouth in the laundry room and she let him put his hands all over her.

They left early because she said she wasn't feeling well and he drove her home. She invited him in, he asked why if she wasn't feel good, and she had laughed and told him her parents were out of town. So they went inside and she pulled off her dress and pressed herself against him. Clothes came off and she knew what she was doing more than Stiles but they were both a bit buzzed and it was _fine_, if not a bit awkward. And afterward she told him it was a one time deal and he wasn't to stalk her at school or anything. He didn't care.

The next day, Stiles should have been having a celebratory cigar or something to commemorate his step into manhood, but instead he was killing zombies on his Xbox. And there he was sitting when Scott knocked and let himself in.

"Yo," Stiles said, not looking away from the screen.

The first thing Scott did was screw up his face and frown. "Uh…has Derek been here?"

Stiles paused the game. "A few weeks ago. You can smell him? What did he do, pee on the carpet?" he muttered. Then his eyes widened. "Dude, he didn't pee on the carpet—"

"No!" Scott rolled his eyes. "So…you left the party…" He plopped himself down in the armchair and looked pointedly at Stiles.

Stiles wanted to put Scott in his place for not being a very good friend lately, but he didn't. "Yeah," he said, glancing at the frozen screen.

"And?" Scott leaned forward. "Did you and Heather…?"

"We went back to her house," Stiles said. "And yeah…we had…sex."

Scott got that goofy grin on his face and was suddenly sitting next to Stiles, asking how it was, which was weird. Talking about it wasn't weird—okay maybe a little weird—but it was weird how quickly Scott slipped back into being Stiles' best friend. But Stiles knew it would be better to talk to Scott about this than Danny, so he told him it was fine, a one time deal and he was cool with it.

"Oh right, we're all gunna meet at Derek's tonight," Scott said after the sex talk was over.

Stiles blinked at the screen and started up the game. "Okay, why are you telling me?" He hadn't even been there more than twice in the past two weeks, since that was the only time when the whole gang was there. The house now had light grey siding and soon they were going to start putting in the sheetrock walls.

"Aren't you coming?" Scott asked, eyes on Stiles, not on the video game.

Stiles frowned. "Is everyone else? Lydia, Danny?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll go."

Scott didn't stay the rest of the day. He left not long after since Allison had asked to talk to him over coffee or something. So Stiles was alone again. He drowned his thoughts in shooting the walking dead. He got a text from Heather. She was checking in and making sure they were okay. He answered that they were, because he wasn't a jackass.

He eventually got himself dressed and was leaving just as his dad came home. They had a quick exchange of words—the Sheriff told him to get his ass home by ten because it was a schoolnight—and then Stiles left.

His stomach turned in an uncomfortable way when he pulled up to the Hale house. It had electricity, just bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, but the windows weren't in so it looked like the house from Monster House; he would never admit it, but that movie scared the living daylights out of him. He was the last to arrive.

They were all sitting around the big back room on the first floor, which Derek said would be a training room. Because even werewolf muscles apparently needed keeping up.

Everyone looked up when he walked in. It was sort of weird because most of the werewolves had the same look on their face and then it hit him that they could probably tell he had sex less than twenty-four hours ago. Which made him sigh and sit next to Scott, who gave him a reassuring look.

"Seems everyone enjoyed themselves last night," Peter said first, from his perch in the empty window space. He was speaking of all of their endeavors, but his eyes were on Stiles.

"Some more than others," Isaac said, eyes flashing to Stiles. Stiles tried really hard to like the guy, but then he stole Scott and said things like that.

If looks could kill…Stiles really wished they could at that moment.

"What's the big deal?" Lydia piped up from her seat on the floor. She was using Jackson as a backrest and he looked actually peaceful. "Stiles is getting on with his life, what is wrong with that?"

Of course she would say that. Stiles was actually glad she was on his side, even after she crushed him. But that was three months ago. He was over it, and actually gave her a grateful look.

"Is this what happens on the full moon?" Danny asked. This was his first time. "Sit around and discuss your sex lives?"

"Would you rather we wolf out and go running around the woods naked?" Erica suggested. She was nestled against Boyd.

Danny glanced at Derek and raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything.

Peter laughed and shook his head. "We don't have to get naked."

Derek stepped forward from the shadow he was hiding in. "We're staying right here."

"Derek…you should teach them to control the shift under a full moon," Peter pointed out. "Not to just suppress it."

Derek swallowed, hands fisting in anger. "Fine. All the humans have to leave."

Lydia pouted and looked over at Danny, who shrugged. They got to their feet. "Fine," Lydia said, flicking her hair. "Jackson, walk me to the car, Danny's taking me home."

That left Stiles, who was glad to leave. "I had to be home soon anyway. Dad didn't want me out," he muttered, saying bye to Scott and leaving. He caught Lydia giving Jackson a kiss at Danny's passenger side door. He scowled and got into his own car, started the engine and waited until Danny had pulled away before he left.

He didn't know why it bothered him so much that Derek hadn't looked at him once. He felt like this was a fight, but he didn't know what it was over or why he felt like punching something.

He got home and locked himself in his room without a word to his dad. He didn't even bother taking off his clothes. He just buried his head in his pillow and dozed off.

The next day went by in a blur. When he got home, the window in his room was open, his room was cold, and his dresser was chaos.

"What the hell," he muttered at the mess. All his shirts were rolled up into balls and tossed around, a few were on the floor. He furrowed his eyebrows and went to close his window. He spotted faint clawmarks across the windowsill and frowned.

December came, and Derek was beginning to ask everyone to come over every day after school for at least an hour to help put up the sheetrock in the rooms so that they could put in the windows. Stiles went, though he still felt a bit out of place. Derek didn't talk to him, but Scott rambled about how he and Allison were back to being friends, which made him happy. Stiles knew that. Allison had told him.

With the lot of them, and all the time Derek and Peter had when they were at school, the house was at least with solid walls and windows within a week. There were no appliances for the bathrooms or kitchen, but at least everything was sealed off for the winter.

They day they finished, Derek made them all stay after, even though they had to study for finals. They were all in the back room again, sitting in a few foldout chairs and around on the floor—which was all just the subfloor, they hadn't put in tile or carpet yet—eating the pizzas that Peter had ordered.

"Can't believe we like, actually built a house," Scott said around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.

"We?" Stiles retorted, blinded by the free food and feeling happy for the first time since Thanksgiving. "Dude, I built more of this place than all of you."

"It's true," Derek said from across the room. Stiles' eyes snapped over to Derek. His heart beat at a painful pace. "Stiles helped the most. Without being asked."

Scott shoved Stiles' shoulder and Erica stuck out her tongue at him. Stiles rolled his eyes and took a bite of his pizza. "See, I'm a better packmember than all of you," he said after a second, looking around at all of the werewolves. "Chew on that."

Derek might have smirked for half a second, or maybe Stiles was imagining it.

The next day at school, Danny came up to him in the hallway. "I've got to talk to you," he said, seriously.

Stiles didn't move, continuing to go through his locker. "Then talk. You don't need my permission."

Danny hesitated. "Have you uh…have you noticed how Derek's been acting lately?"

Stiles swallowed, shutting his locker and pulling his bag over his shoulder so he could face Danny. "Should you be asking that question? You hardly know the guy."

"Which is probably why I _should_ be asking that question," Danny retorted.

Stiles sucked in a breath. "Just talk, I've got a chemistry final in like two minutes."

"Since I've come from the outside…or maybe because you're my friend and you've told me everything I've asked about, but I've noticed…"

"Danny, tell me what you're talking about or I'm going to have an aneurism."

"I've noticed the way you and Derek act around each other. It's…it's obvious."

"Obvious?"

Danny just shook his head. "_Obvious._ Just…think about it." He walked away then and Stiles had no time to think about it because he had a chemistry finale.

But then lunch came and Scott asked Stiles why he smelled like Derek. "What?" Stiles had squeaked, lifting his arm to sniff himself. "Uh…I smell like cold air and my house."

Scott shook his head. "No…you have a distinct Derek smell on you."

"I haven't seen him since the housewarming pizza party," Stiles frowned.

Scott just raised his eyebrows.

Stiles got home and thought about things. Namely Derek. Like how Derek brushed him off after Stiles did something nice for his birthday. And how much it had bothered him. And about how he didn't like to be around Derek alone after that because he was afraid he would say something stupid. Not dumb stupid, but blurt out something to make Derek even more angry with him, because it seemed like Stiles had done _something_ to make him upset. And why had it made Stiles so mad when Derek didn't look at him that night after he'd slept with Heather.

But then he thought too much and it made his head hurt and he still had to study for his English final so Stiles put on Transporter and did his best to study. He ended up falling asleep and getting a kink in his neck. He muttered that it was Derek's fault under his breath as he went up to his room to sleep because he obviously wasn't going to get any more studying in that night.

He thought he would be up for hours, but he fell right asleep.

He didn't have time to think about it the next day, because there were finals and he was sent to the principal's office to talk about his grades because apparently he was doing really well and they thought he was cheating.

At least it meant he was doing better.

When he got out of the office, his phone rang. He frowned down at the screen, unsure if he wanted to answer. "Hello?"

"Stiles." It was Derek.

"The one and only."

"Could you um…come by today?"

Stiles blinked into the empty hallway. "Uh…yeah. Did something happen?"

"Yeah. Just come over." And then he hung up.

Stiles was sidetracked the rest of the day. He began thinking again about what Danny had said and what Scott had mentioned. Something was _obvious_ about the way Stiles and Derek acted…and Scott said Stiles smelled like Derek even though they hadn't seen each other in weeks. Stiles still couldn't come up with anything by the time he was telling Scott he'd see him later and he walked mechanically to his Jeep and turned it on like he was on autopilot.

He pulled up in front of the Hale house and cut the engine. The silence that followed was deafening and Stiles' heart beat in his throat. He swallowed and got out of the car. He found himself at the front door, knocking before poking his head in.

"Derek?" he called, glancing over the unfinished wood of the staircase and closing the door behind him with his foot.

"In here."

Stiles followed the voice and found Derek standing in the kitchen, with a fridge and stove in the middle of the room. "Oh," Stiles said, seeing the appliances and thinking he just wanted help. Though why Derek hadn't called one of his superpowered werewolves didn't seem right. "I see you opted for the double doors, smart move."

Derek turned, fixing his gaze on Stiles. "I need to talk to you," he said seriously.

"About…fridges?" Stiles offered. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? Derek didn't scare him, so what was it? His mind went into overdrive, picking up the pieces of what he could of his long thinking spell about him and Derek. He wondered why he smelled like Derek, but then he remembered that day he came home and his room was a mess and the window was open.

"No," Derek said. Confusion filtered through his eyes.

Stiles swallowed. Did Derek break into his room? It wouldn't be the first time…but the thought sent Stiles' mind into a tailspin. "Did…did you break into my house?" he blurted out.

Derek frowned. "What?"

"Did you break into my house? The day after the full moon?" Stiles didn't know why but he felt panicky. And he knew Derek could feel it too, because he had that werewolf-emotion-detector thing.

"Stiles…"

"You did! Why…why did you break into my house?" Stiles eyed him wearily, trying to _think_. Danny said it was _obvious_ and Scott… "Holy shit. You…did you break into my house to like…put your scent everywhere?" His voice was squeaky and he hated it.

Derek sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Could I explain?"

Stiles sucked in a breath. "You could try."

"You're part of my pack," Derek stated without hesitation. Stiles blinked in surprise. "It's…it's not easy to explain."

Stiles waited.

"It's not…if other wolves came here, they would go after you. Because you are a human and you have the scents of all of the wolves on you and around you, whether you like it or not," Derek went, finding his groove and talking for the longest Stiles had ever heard him talk before. "They would go after you, unless the Alpha's scent was strongest. It would deter them."

Stiles swallowed. It did make sense. But something wasn't adding up. "You did this for Danny and Lydia too?"

Derek clenched his teeth. "Yes."

"You're an awful liar." Stiles didn't want to deal with this anymore. Not when he still had another final to worry about. He turned and left and went home and made food for his dad and Allison came over. They sat on the couch and she turned to face him.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked softly.

He stared down at his hands. "I have no clue."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Stiles…you were friends with me even after everything I did…you've stayed friends with me and you've been there for me…I'm here for you too, you know."

"Yeah." He nodded. "I'm…fighting with Derek. I mean…we've been…weird ever since his birthday."

Stiles looked over at her and her welcoming expression and knowing that he didn't have to censor anything, he told her about helping Derek with the house, to Derek's birthday and what they did, and how Derek brushed him off the next day. How Stiles was angry for weeks and then how Derek wouldn't look at him after the Thanksgiving party and the breaking-in thing and their little spat earlier that day. At the end of it, Stiles felt better having told someone and waited for her to tell him what the hell was going on.

And she did. She thought about it and then turned, pulling her legs up onto the couch and leaning an arm on the back of the couch. "Stiles," she started, before she paused and bit her bottom lip. "Do you want me to be honest with you?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on because I can't stand it any more."

She took in a breath. "From what you told me…Derek…okay, let's start with your room. He told you that he spread his scent around so that rogue wolves wouldn't come after you. Does that make sense?"

Stiles frowned. "I don't know."

"I think he did it for another reason," she said slowly. "If he went through your clothes then…I think he wants you to smell like him."

"Scott said…" Stiles trailed off, a few things falling into place. "He said that I smelled like Derek."

"Yeah."

"But…that would ward off other wolves, wouldn't it?"

She nodded. "Sure. I mean…I guess. I don't know _exactly_."

Stiles sucked in a breath. "But why would he want me to smell like him…"

Just then the Sheriff walked in and spotted them. He asked Allison if she was staying for dinner. Stiles seconded it since he made too much food and the three of them sat down and ate, talked about finals and normal things.

After Allison left, Stiles stayed downstairs and did dishes instead of putting them in the dishwasher. His dad asked if he was okay and he said he was. He thought about what Allison said…and Danny…and he thought about Derek. He wondered why Derek had lied. And why he said something had happened, just to get Stiles over to his house. He could have just asked…

He went upstairs after the dishes were washed, dried and put away and he tried to study for his last final. He should be happy that it was his last one until next year, but he kept reading the same paragraph over and over and not remembering anything.

Frustrated, Stiles tossed himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He had nothing to distract him from thinking about Derek. He thought about what Allison said. Why did Derek want Stiles to smell like him all the time? Too lazy to get up, he googled it on his phone, not thinking he would get anything from it, but he was surprised when links came up about such a thing. Wolves mark their territories with scent…they do the same to their mates.

"Mates?" Stiles felt like he'd swallowed an ice cube. "No…no way."

But then he thought about it. How easy he and Derek went along with things while it was just the two of them working on the house. How Derek had come to Stiles on his birthday, of all people he could go to. How Derek acted weird after Stiles did something nice for him and brushed him off…was that because?

"Oh my God," he said to his ceiling.

Of course. That's why Derek didn't look at him when he came over for the full-moon party. Because Stiles had sex with someone…and everyone knew it, including Derek. Derek must have freaked out and broke into his house to put his scent like…all over Stiles' things because Derek _wanted_ him. And when Stiles went back to having no sex life, Derek started getting less grumpy and they were getting along a bit more at the pizza party. And then Danny noticed something…he noticed before Stiles did!

"Oh my God," Stiles repeated, pushing himself up and out of his room. He went to the bathroom and splashed ice cold water on his face. It stung and he looked at himself in the mirror. "This is not happening."

The worst part of it was that Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about Derek. He remembered how pissed he'd been after Derek started ignoring him. He hadn't thought about it much, but now he wasn't sure if he could chalk it up to just because he and Derek had become friends and then the werewolf had to fuck it up. But did Stiles _like_ Derek? In the elementary school meaning of the word?

It was seriously too much to think about for one night. He shuffled back to his room, made sure the alarm for his phone was set and had a hell of a time falling asleep.

He somehow managed to ace his finals, but he didn't see Derek for a long time. His dad suddenly decided they should go to Florida to visit his sister for winter break. Stiles barely had any say in the matter, and it would give him time to think. So he packed his bags and saw Scott before he left but that was it.

The Stilinskis boarded a flight and actually talked for the first time in a while. Stiles told his dad about the gang—minus the werewolf stuff and especially minus the new developments with Derek—and how Derek's house was almost done except for decorating and putting in bathrooms and kitchen appliances. And then Stiles told him about his final grades and his dad looked so proud Stiles felt his heart swell because after all of the shit he'd put his dad through earlier in the year, he had finally done something right. He got good grades and he was in every lacrosse game.

They were in Florida for two weeks. It was warm and his aunt had a house close to the beach. He had a few cousins there too and they went down to the beach often. Stiles found himself playing volleyball more often than he ever thought he would in his entire life.

And he might have let himself look at the numerous winter-break-people on the beach. Guys and girls included. Because this was a serious thing. Stiles still had to go home and deal with Derek. He didn't even know if what he had come up with was true, but it's the only thing that made any sense.

So he took in girls in bikinis and guys in swim trunks and asked himself if he found them attractive. A majority of the time he said yes. To both. Which was sort of a new thing for Stiles, but maybe not.

And then there was that time when he was looking through sunglasses at a vender, his cousins were playing some beach game trying to win a stuffed panda—to be fair, one of them was eleven, however the others were older than Stiles—when Stiles was hit on. By a guy. A rather nice looking guy. Stiles was flattered, but wondered why he felt guilty afterward, when he walked off to his family.

His dad enjoyed it too. Getting away. He called Beacon Hills daily to make sure everything was okay, but no murders had happened. It was a good vacation.

When Stiles and his dad got back onto the plane in the new year, they had gotten a bit closer and both of them had gotten the break that they needed. They talked almost the whole plane ride about all sorts of things. His dad told stories from his childhood and even talked about meeting Stiles' mom. It was sad, but a good kind of sad.

When they got off the plane, Melissa and Scott McCall were waiting for them, to drive them back home.

Stiles yammered about his trip to Scott the whole ride back, though he didn't mention the more sensitive bits that he didn't want to talk about in front of parents. Not yet at least.

"We all missed you on New Years," Scott said, once Stiles had finished. "We went over to Derek's and set off fireworks. Lydia gave up her New Years party."

"Really?" Stiles raised his eyebrows. That was a surprise. Lydia loved parties.

"Yeah. It was good. Allison came too." Allison being at the Hale house was sort of a sore point, for both her and Derek. He didn't trust her, and she had seen her aunt die on that property. But they could grow. "It wasn't the same without you though."

"Dude, you're making me blush," Stiles said with a roll of his eyes. "We'll have a party in my honor tomorrow. Good?"

Scott laughed and soon they were at the Stilinski house. Everyone said goodbye and they went inside. They were both exhausted from the flight and went to sleep without unpacking.

The next day, Scott called at twelve, waking Stiles up. They were all going to meet at Derek's at three. It was the plan.

Stiles lounged around the house for the rest of the three hours. He got a text from Danny at two-fifteen.

_Are you coming?_

Stiles had just gotten out of the shower. He grabbed his phone and typed: _Yeah. Three, right?_

He had just pulled on pants when his phone beeped.

_Yeah. Are you going to ask, or do you want me to just tell you?_

Stiles frowned. He knew what this was about. _I'm not a chick._

He was pretty sure Danny would roll his eyes and scoff at his response.

_Derek has been acting twitchy. He's been so busy he can barely think. _

Stiles pulled on his shirt and sat down on the end of his bed. His fingers hovered over his phone. _Why would he do that?_

_Why else? He didn't want to think about you being away for weeks._

Stiles gulped. _Did he miss me?_

It was agonizing to wait the ninety seconds for Danny's text:

_Hell yeah._

Stiles spent a great deal of time wondering if his shirts still smelled like Derek before he finally pulled on a jacket and left a note for his dad before he took off. The space in front of the Hale house was filled with cars.

The house itself had gotten a lot more done to it since Stiles had last been there. Danny pulled in right after him and walked over, clapping him on the shoulder.

"So, you figured it out?" he asked.

Stiles blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Thank God for that vacation."

Danny chuckled and they walked inside. There was hardwood floor down in the foyer and the stairs were stained and shiny. The walls were painted white. There was no other room quite finished, but the bathrooms both had the same tile and the kitchen had the appliances all in over fancy tile floor. There were no carpets yet, and no other room was painted. But there were paint swatches stuck everywhere and Lydia and Allison both gushed over what they had planned with everyone in the back room, which was still the same, except there was a couch and an armchair there. To be moved into the living room once they got the carpet down, Lydia said.

Derek wasn't even home. It was just Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Lydia, Allison, Scott, Danny and Stiles.

"It's weird being here without Derek," Allison said, voicing Stiles' thoughts.

Everyone else was cool with it. Because this was slowly becoming their second home and they were werewolves, so wherever their Alpha made a home, it was their home.

Stiles tried not to be nervous. But he didn't know what he'd do when he saw Derek.

"Everyone's here." It was Derek. He was in his typical boots, jeans, dark shirt and leather jacket. Because some things never change. He actually looked happy though, even if he didn't smile.

"Yeah, _everyone_," Scott clapped his hands down on Stiles' shoulders from behind the couch. "Look who finally came home."

And there it was, that awful moment that Stiles had been dreading, when he would have to meet Derek's eyes and pray he didn't blurt out anything, especially in front of the entire wolfpack. So he sucked in a breath and did just that. Derek looked relaxed, and Stiles found himself thinking that he had missed him…quite a lot.

"Stiles," Derek said, the oddest hint of a smile on his face. "How was the trip?"

And that was it. It was totally normal. Stiles let out the breath and shrugged. "Beach, sun, family. It was good," he said, voice sounding more level than he thought it would. He was proud of himself.

"Good," Derek nodded and held up the mountainous brown paper bag in his hands. "I bought Chinese so…"

It didn't take long for everyone to be sitting around, mostly on the floor, using both forks and chopsticks, passing around white cardboard boxes for a bite or two before handing it over to the next person. There was mindless chatter about how the break had been and how they didn't want school to start.

"Where's Peter?" Stiles asked, because he had been out of the loop, barely texting Scott or anyone while he was gone.

The room got a bit quieter. "He went to talk to another pack in Montana," Derek said.

"Talk? Is that safe?" Stiles asked. "I mean, can you trust him?"

Derek frowned slightly. "I can't keep him here."

"You could, you're the Alpha," Stiles pointed out…literately. He pointed his chopsticks at Derek.

Everyone sort of chuckled and went back to their food. Lydia started chattering about the decorating and the carpets she and Allison had picked out. Derek listened with full interest. Nothing felt weird or off. Stiles was happy to be back.

There was no real purpose to the _party_ except to eat and chat and moan about how full they were after they cleaned out every single dish. Eventually they all rolled out of there at about the same time, so Stiles wasn't alone with Derek at all, but he didn't mind.

The following few days were filled with getting ready for school, unpacking and adjusting to the time change. Stiles was ready for school to start, _really_. But what he wasn't ready for was what happened on that first day back.

Everything was fine until the bell rang for second period and Stiles was at his locker and people were mulling about and then there was some fierce whispering and Stiles was too focused to notice until a hand came down on his shoulder and he jumped.

"Derek!" Stiles exclaimed, and his heart instantly plummeted to his feet because Derek looked like hell. Like back when he was shot with that wolfsbane bullet, he was all pale and sweaty.

"Stiles," Derek breathed out, just before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Stiles barely caught him, but he managed to.

"Derek," he said feebly, because really, he didn't know what to do. He saw the wolves show up almost instantly and Stiles looked up at Scott, who set his jaw and crouched down beside Derek.

"We should get him to Deaton," Scott said. "Before a teacher notices."

Boyd and Isaac took Derek, who was sort of coming back to consciousness, but not enough to move very well, much less tell them what happened. They all left, except Lydia and Allison, who did crowd control. Stiles didn't pay much attention, because his hands were shaking and he wasn't sure if he could drive but his Jeep was the closest and Isaac was already pushing Derek into the passenger's seat.

"I'll come with you," Scott said, offering his hand out for the Jeep's keys. Stiles gladly let him take them and climbed into the backseat. The wolves stood at the front of the car, worry plastered across their faces.

Derek didn't say much, but he muttered about Peter an awful lot and Stiles spent most of the trip barely sitting on the seat and keeping his hand on Derek's shoulder. Which, he noticed, was really hot. Like, it shouldn't be that hot.

His heart hammered against his chest and Scott told him to call the Animal Clinic to tell Deaton they were coming. Stiles could barely speak when the man picked up.

"Stiles, you have to tell me what happened," the vet coaxed.

Stiles swallowed, though it didn't do much for him. "Derek…he showed up at school and he collapsed and he's really hot and pale and isn't awake enough to tell us anything."

"How close are you?"

Before Stiles could ask, Scott was answering, "Two minutes, tops."

"Two minutes," Stiles repeated.

"Alright. Bring him through the back when you get here. Okay, Stiles?"

"Okay." He hung up and Stiles repeated what Deaton had said even though Scott had heard it all anyway.

They got there and helped Derek through the back of the building. He was a bit more coherent, but not by much. Deaton was waiting for them. He had them sit Derek down and Scott put his hand on Stiles' shoulder to keep him back when Deaton tried talking to Derek.

"Derek, can you hear me?"

Derek's eyes fluttered and he muttered something.

"He was talking about Peter, in the car," Scott said, voice clear and calm while Stiles felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and he wasn't sure if he even _could_ talk. "Peter had gone to Montana to talk with another wolfpack. I don't know what that was about."

Deaton looked worried. "Help him onto the table."

"What?" Stiles croaked.

"Lay him down on the table," Deaton said again. His voice was calm and soothing.

Stiles nodded and he and Scott went over to Derek.

"Take his shirt off," the vet added.

"What? Why?" Scott asked this time. But he didn't question it more than that. Stiles was shaking too bad, so Scott had to do it. And it was difficult with an uncooperative Alpha, but the shirt came off finally and left Scott wide eyed and Stiles actually gasped.

All of Derek's veins were black.

"Get him onto the table," Deaton's voice cut through the thick air.

Derek's eyes fluttered as Scott pulled him to his feet. Stiles didn't think he could help. He was glued to the spot, and jumped when Deaton touched his arm.

"I'm going to need your help, Stiles," he said in that kind but firm way.

Stiles swallowed and nodded. "Okay."

Scott had successfully gotten Derek onto the table, and he looked really awful. "What's going on? What happened to him?" Scott asked as Deaton pulled out his special box of magical herbs.

"You know that there are different types of wolfsbane," the vet started, sorting through the bottles. "Well, there is one particularly potent to a werewolf. If used properly, it prevents them from healing at the same time that it's killing them."

Stiles's throat went dry.

"Those veins? That's the effect." Deaton pulled out one of the bottles and unscrewed the cap. "We have to make an incision near his heart and put this into the wound. It's only the first step, but we don't have much time left." He turned. "Stiles, this is where you come in. Scott will have to hold him down, I'll make the cut and you have to press this into the wound," he held out the bottle.

He didn't have a choice. He took the bottle and Deaton grabbed a scalpel and they moved to the table. Derek was still.

"You said we have to do more steps, what are they?" Scott asked, standing by Derek's head.

"One thing at a time," the vet said, positioning the scalpel over one Derek's chest. "Hold his shoulders. Stiles?" Stiles stood across the table from him. "I'm going to cut horizontally here, you have to be quick, there will be blood."

Stiles bit his tongue and nodded. The next few minutes went by in a horrible blur. Deaton cut, Stiles did his job, though his almost got sick. The wound smoked and bleed out more black than red before it closed and then it was up to Scott to make sure Derek didn't flip off the table as the herb counteracted the wolfsbane.

Stiles had to sit before he could even wash the stuff off his hands and he told himself not to cry because that was stupid and Derek would be _fine_.

"What do we do next?" Scott asked, once Derek fell quiet again. The black veins began to recede.

"Now we hydrate, just like a normal case of a bad fever," Deaton replied, going around to the room to get a bag and a needle and hooking up the IV. "When he regains consciousness, he'll have to take more of that powder." Stiles carefully put the lid back on the bottle.

Scott left, to go tell everyone what happened, but Stiles refused to leave. It took an hour before Derek blinked and turned his head, spotting Stiles sitting in the chair a few feet away. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on his hands, staring down at the floor. His phone buzzed against the seat in his jacket pocket but he didn't answer it.

"Stiles, what're you doing?" his voice was gravely and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck and his mind was a bit fuzzy.

Stiles jumped at his voice. "Holy God," he muttered, standing up stiffly and awkwardly hovering by Derek's feet. "What am I doing? What're you doing, man? You can't come to my school almost dead. That is so not cool."

Derek half-smirked.

"It's…it's the first day back to school and the one thing people are gunna be talking about is not my awesome shots during lacrosse practice, which I'm missing by the way, but how a dude dressed in leather collapsed in my arms."

"In your arms?" Derek's eyes were closed, and he looked actually peaceful.

Stiles shifted on his feet. "Yeah, dude, I didn't have a choice. You sorta fell on me."

"Sorry," Derek muttered.

"Nah…don't be." Stiles sort of waved his hands around even though Derek couldn't see. "Deaton…he knew what to do. He knew what happened." There was a good three second pause. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"It was Peter."

"Yeah. Remind me to punch him the next time I see him." If Stiles was a dog, or a cat, or some sort of animal with fur, he would be bristling. "That kind of wolfsbane is really rare…Deaton said Peter must have lied and gone to hunters or something. I _knew_ we couldn't trust Peter…why does no one ever pay attention to my gut feelings, huh? I knew Matt was evil all along, okay? And what does he do, kill a shitload of people via lizardman."

"I never trusted Peter," Derek confessed, just as Deaton walked in.

"Good, you're talking," the vet said, going over to his trusty magic-herb bottles. "You can sit in the chair or stay where you are, it's up to you."

Stiles helped Derek over to the chair—the table was not made for someone Derek's size—and Deaton mixed the powder with water so it looked like the opposite of what anyone would ever want to drink, but Derek did, though he grimaced at the taste. Stiles didn't leave. He sat on the counter next to the sink and watched Derek as he dozed off and answered his phone only after his dad called for the fifth time. Somehow the Sheriff had found out about Stiles leaving school and he wasn't happy, what with it being the first day back and all. Stiles bargained that he wouldn't skip class for the rest of the year if his dad just let him off this once.

Stiles drove Derek home later, after he simmered down to a normal temperature and his veins went back to being a normal color. Derek still wasn't one hundred percent, and the car ride was mostly quiet.

Stiles got out of the car without even asking and sort of hovered beside Derek as he walked to the door.

"I'm not dying, Stiles," Derek grumbled as he stepped into the finished foyer.

Stiles rolled his eyes and bumped the door shut with his shoulder. "Yeah?" Stiles snorted. "You sure about that?"

"You don't need to coddle me, Stiles." Derek ran his hand along the wall to keep steady as he walked through the unfinished living room and down the hall to the backroom where the couch was. It was the only place to sleep in this place.

"You can quit saying my name after every sentence, it's creepy," Stiles retorted, following behind. He watched with a close eye as Derek sat down on the couch and relaxed instantly. "Deaton said you should be okay but…" He trailed off when his phone beeped, signaling another text. The wolfpack hadn't stopped pestering him about how Derek was doing and he had been mostly ignoring them.

"I'll be fine," Derek said softly. That's right, _softly._ He proceeded to just sort of curl up on the cushions and Stiles watched him for a while, frozen to the spot like a statue or something until his phone began to get really annoying so he left.

Stiles started going to Derek's after school every day again. They easily slipped back into whatever comfortzone they had before. They were putting in the carpet in the bedrooms upstairs when Stiles asked about Peter.

"He wasn't the one who…he tricked me," Derek had frowned and Stiles eyed the razorblade in Derek's hand. "He doesn't want to be an Alpha to _my_ pack, he doesn't want them to survive. He wanted me dead so they would fall apart or be picked off by any werewolves that came into the area looking for territory."

"So what happened?" Stiles asked.

"He said he had something to show me, but there was a hunter there, since Peter didn't want to do the killing."

"'Cause then he'd be an Alpha. But if you died…and the pack fell apart…"

"He could find a new pack and fight for an Alpha position. He might have taken Scott with him." Derek stopped working too.

"Did you let him go?"

"I couldn't kill him," Derek said after a beat.

Stiles frowned down at the lumpy carpet. "Is he roaming around, trying to find a new way to kill you?" He didn't like the sound of that.

Derek swallowed, and seemed to be fighting an inner battle before he was able to answer. "I talked to Argent…Allison's father. I'm letting them handle this."

Stiles just sort of gaped at him, because that was not at all like the Derek he knew. Derek didn't step down from a fight, not even if the fight was against his own family. "You're…you're letting the hunters handle your uncle?" Stiles repeated, just in case he misinterpreted.

"Yeah." Derek glanced over at him before leaning forward on his hands to continue cutting the carpet along the wall.

Stiles stayed where he was. "Why?" he finally asked, almost at a loss for words, which was startling.

Derek paused for a fraction of a second. "Because I have an entire pack to worry about," he said, never looking up from his work. "I have to think about that now. I can't be irrational and run off to get killed every other week."

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out. "You can't keep doing that."

Derek reached the corner and started down the last wall, the one where Stiles was sitting closest to. "Because I do it so often," Derek said in a tone that wasn't quite serious but wasn't quite humorous either.

"Yeah, exactly," Stiles said. His mind was moving the slowest he could ever remember it being. Derek was two feet away, and even the constant ripping sound of the carpet against the knife wasn't deterring him. "We…we care about you, and we sort of need you." _I_ care about you and _I _sort of _really_ need you, is what he really wanted to say.

Derek stopped when he got to Stiles and sat back, one knee on the floor while balancing on his other foot. Derek looked right at Stiles, without any hint of a glare or thought of 'this kid is a nuisance' in his eyes. "You'd be fine without me."

Stiles swallowed. "No. I don't think I would. So…" _now_ his mind was racing. "So the next time you plan on trusting someone you shouldn't and before you come crawling to me half dead again, why don't you discuss your plans first? Because I'm sorry, but you're not the best when it comes to pla—ans!" The last word was cut into two when Derek suddenly grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him forward and after a beat, kissed him. Stiles was stunned and couldn't even react for the measly two second before Derek's grip on his shirt loosened and he looked down at the carpet, ready to go back to work. Stiles wasn't going to let that happen though. Without really thinking about the severity of possible blood and wounds what with Derek's hand around a knife, he launched himself at Derek. It was almost comical, except it wasn't. Derek fell back in surprise and one arm clamped around Stiles as if afraid he would tumble off and the other he dropped to steady himself, keeping himself propped up on an elbow. Stiles kissed Derek, hyperaware of the fact that they hadn't been _this_ close really since the pool dilemma and the kanima last year, and this was an entirely new feeling. Stiles wasn't sure if he was really doing anything right—even though it felt damn right—until he heard a satisfying sort of rumble from Derek's chest. He, being human and all, had to come up for air and his lips were tingling and Derek's hold on him loosened.

"We should finish the room," Derek said simply.

Stiles blinked and stared and nodded and scrambled off of Derek. "Right." He stood and sucked in some deep breaths as he went to get the glue to hold down the second half of the carpet and Derek finished slicing it to size. He dragged the excess out into the hall and started to roll the unglued flooring toward Stiles.

"In case you were wondering," Stiles started, stepping over the rolled up edge to stand on the floor next to Derek. "I was trying to tell you to stop doing stupid things because I need you around."

Derek smiled slightly. "Yeah, I got that."

And then they went on with their work, gluing down the rest of the carpet in the room and fixing up the edges a bit but not to perfection, because there would be baseboards being put down soon enough and Lydia had already picked them out. They stood at the doorway, looking at their handywork and Derek put a hand on the back of Stiles' neck and the warmth from him spread through Stiles like wildfire.

"I'm sort of seeing someone," Stiles said one evening in February, over supper.

His dad looked across the table. "Really? That's great, son. Do I know them?"

Stiles really could have lunged across the table and hugged his dad just then for using a non-gender-specific pronoun. "It's uh…it's Derek," he said slowly.

His dad paused mid-chew for a good three seconds before he finished the bite of food and looked directly across the table at Stiles. "How much of him are you seeing?"

Stiles almost chocked. "Dad!" he exclaimed.

The Sheriff raised his eyebrows in response. "What? I have a right to know."

Stiles groaned and hung his head. "Dad…it's not…we haven't…"

"We need to have a serious talk about this," he dad interrupted. "But after dinner. And maybe I should call Melissa."

Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved a forkful of salad in his mouth before he said anything stupid. Whatever was between him and Derek…it was like a slow burning fire. Poetic, right? They didn't make a big deal over it. They still worked on painting the house and putting up doorframes and baseboards and putting in the things that Lydia and Allison ordered through catalogs from multiple states. They didn't do anything romantic, really, like hold hands or kiss each other besides when they were in private, because it _was_ private. The wolfpack knew, obviously, but they didn't make that big of a deal about it—well, at least not to Derek _and _Stiles, but Stiles had about seven different talks about how it had happened and why it took so long while at school—and that was it. Derek and Stiles didn't hold hands in public, or go on dates. The only date-worthy thing was when sometimes Derek would pick up Stiles from school and they'd go to that diner or for pizza. It was easier that way, and doing it any other way would feel weird.

But they did do a lot of kissing. Hot and heavy, panting kissing involving Derek scraping his teeth across Stiles' skin and Stiles digging his nails into Derek's back. Kissing until Stiles' face felt fuzzy from Derek's scruff and they were both hard. And sometimes they would just...soak in each others presence, watch a movie or something and Derek's arm would end up around Stiles' shoulders and he would let out that content sigh, rumble noise and Stiles would give a satisfied-that-he-made-Derek-content smile.

The Sheriff had Derek over for dinner not long after Stiles broke the news about their relationship. It went surprisingly well, considering. And afterward, Stiles and Derek had stood outside the front door and Derek kissed him and nuzzled his neck and Stiles ran his fingertips through Derek's hair. It was their most public display of affection to date.

Then came spring break week, and Derek got news that Peter had been _stopped_ by the hunters. He threw himself into finishing his house, and the whole pack was there to help including the humans, although Allison stayed away in respect. The second day of break, they officially finished the first bedroom...the biggest one and the same one that Derek and Stiles had first kissed in. Lydia shamelessly christened it the Stiles and Derek room as if they would be together forever.

Throughout the day everyone had subtlety comforted Derek the only way they knew how. A look or a simple touch for a few seconds, though Lydia actually broke out and gave him a quick hug around the neck before she and Jackson left. Scott almost asked Derek if he wanted any of them to stay, but stopped at the look and shake of the head that Danny gave him. Soon, it was just Derek and Stiles, sitting on the wide staircase, staring at the front door.

"So uh…should we get food or…?" Stiles glanced over and let out a little noise when Derek's hand came down on his thigh and he pressed his nose against Stiles' neck. Stiles' pulse jumped. "Or…or we could stay in."

"Stiles," Derek breathed.

"Don't…don't you want to be alone to brood?" Stiles' mind was moving too fast to keep up, and he sat still as a statue.

"No." Lips pressed against skin. "I want you."

"Okay." Stiles was probably at a loss for words for one of a handful of times in his life. He blinked and Derek had disappeared up the stairs. "Okay," he repeated, sucking in a breath and puffing out his cheeks before nodding and rubbing his palms on his legs as he stood. Stiles was freaking out…but in a good way. It was just that things had been strictly PG-13 between him and Derek the last few months…He let out the breath. "Okay, sure. Derek?" He turned to look up the stairs. They were empty. He might have tripped up them, but how could you blame him in such a situation?

And then Derek had him up against a wall and was kissing him in a whole new, hungry way. There were clothes off and Stiles couldn't shut up unless Derek made him. It was all very chaotic and messy and the Derek and Stiles room was officially broken in.

They lay there after, all naked and sweaty and sticky. Even though all they'd done is get each other off—many, many times, several times, in a row—it was still the most amazing experience Stiles had ever had. And he was running his mouth about it until Derek grumbled out his name.

"Sorry, I just—" Then Stiles' phone rang. He was not going to answer it in his current state, so he just slowly got off the bed and looked at the screen as the last ring faded. It was from his dad. He actually turned beet red. "Uh…I…forgot…I promised my dad I would make dinner."

Derek just snorted and rolled over, pressing his face into a pillow.

"Your shower works right? The one downstairs? I'm going to shower. Don't follow me. As much as that would be enjoyable…" Stiles took a step into the hall, glanced over his shoulder and then walked downstairs. Naked. Covered in come. In Derek Hale's house. He stubbed his toe in the hall and let out a slew of curses before taking the world's quickest shower. He didn't want to wash off the feeling of Derek's hands on him.

He looked in the mirror and decided he would need to somehow avoid being seen naked by anyone else in the following days because Derek had this biting thing that he did that left well…basically wolfhickies and they were plastered around his whole torso. "Great. I think he forgets that I don't heal instantly," Stiles muttered. He went back upstairs soaking wet because there wasn't a damn towel to be had and pulled on his jeans.

"Your phone keeps ringing," Derek said. He hadn't even moved an inch.

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked at the now four missed calls. He shook his head and shoved the phone in his pocket. "I thought Lydia bought you towels," Stiles muttered, yanking on his t-shirt and rolling up the rest of his clothes in a bundle. "Do you even know how to use a towel, or do I have to show you?" He leaned against the wall to pull on his sneakers, and when he looked up, Derek was standing there, all muscley and exposed.

"H_eeey_." Stiles would have backed up if he wasn't already against a wall. Derek stepped closer. "Wait, what? No, stay away. I want to go home smelling the least like sex that I can. And you will not help the matter if you touch me."

"Your dad isn't a werewolf." Derek raised an eyebrow and grabbed Stiles' hips.

Stiles let out a strangled noise when Derek yanked him forward by beltloops. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. "Nope. No, no, no, nope," he shook his head fiercely.

Derek actually let out a chuckle and gave Stiles a quick, hard kiss before stepping back. Stiles opened one eye then the other comically, then relaxed a bit. "Okay. I'm uh…I'm going home, so will you be okay?" Stiles remembered the whole reason for any of the wolfpack coming over. Peter…

"Yeah," Derek said, sitting on the bed.

"Yeah." Stiles shifted the bundle of clothes between his hands and took a step into the hall before turning around. "So we really broke in the bed, huh?"

Derek looked over at him in a hazy, lusty way. "Yeah. You should really leave now if you want to get home anytime soon."

Stiles left with a grin, yelling up the stairs for Derek to get some freakin' towels.

Derek didn't often sneak into Stiles' room. When he did, it was usually late and Stiles would barely register the fact and they would wake up tangled up in each other. Those were the best of mornings because Derek's face would take up permanent residence in the crook of Stiles' neck and fingers would skim over skin and set things on fire. Every so often, Stiles would think the crazy thought that he actually liked those moments better than when they were having sex. Of course, then they would fuck and things would switch back again.

The massive jerkoff fest changed to actual sex around the time when Stiles was way too stressed with finals and the Hale house was pretty much finished. Let's just say that Stiles was even more of a motormouth after that.

He didn't tell his dad anything. Because he doubted either of them could handle that situation. But the Sheriff was always supportive, asking how things were and never pressing for details. Derek had dinner with them every so often, and they weren't totally awkward, except when Stiles found himself zoning out and imagining Derek naked, but who could blame him?

Allison and Scott got back together over the summer. Isaac got a girlfriend too, though she didn't learn about the werewolf stuff. Most of the summer was spent at Derek's house, since it had all the space and all the bedrooms and big screen tv with as many channels that could be offered. It felt very _pack_, even when Isaac's girlfriend and Danny's boyfriend were there and they had to censor the wolf stuff.

They even went on a vacation to the woods in the north. Stiles was the only human allowed to come, because he was with the Alpha, so he was special. He mostly just made sure the tent didn't blow away and sat around with a baseball bat when the wolves stripped down to underthings and went running through the forest. There was only one tent, a big two room thing meant for eight people in sleeping bags. In reality, Stiles found himself sleeping in a wolfpile every night, that was all damp-wolves—they all liked to splash around the nearby creek to wash off the forest, which Stiles was thankful for—who smelled like leaves and dirt. Stiles was normally pressed up against Derek and everyone just sort of flopped around and no one was ever cold.

Senior year started and Derek mostly snuck into Stiles' room to find him crashed out at his desk. He would nudge him over to the bed and pull him close and they'd sleep. More than a few times the Sheriff found them that way in the morning; fully clothed, thankfully.

Stiles had been avoiding having the college talk with Derek. He didn't like to think of the idea that he would…could be far away. He didn't know whether or not he could handle not having Derek _there_, always just a twenty minute drive away.

He started getting defiant, even when Derek mentioned to the pack that there had been scents of foreign wolves around the territory. Every wolf was to be on full alert and the humans were to have a wolf with them if they went anywhere alone.

Then came _the_ day. The day Stiles slipped out of school before the wolves left and went off to run some errands. Really, they were just _errands_ and it was _daytime._ He went to the pharmacy and stopped by the sheriff's station to bring his dad a salad to eat. Then he went over to the far side of town to get a Christmas present for his dad. _Really_. He just wanted to be nice, he didn't imagine he would walk outside and come face to face with a smirking chick whose eyes glowed red and someone hit the back of his head and he went down.

He came to in a near chokehold, face to face with the smirking brunette _Alpha_. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. This was the werewolf pack Derek had been warning them about. And because Stiles was stubborn, he was fucking kidnapped and his life might have started to flash before his eyes…

In his room, Stiles jerked painfully on his bed when he heard pounding footsteps. "Derek," he croaked out. Call him crazy, but he could tell the difference between every footfall of everyone in the wolfpack, and Derek's was the easiest to tell.

He pushed himself to his feet stiffly, just as Derek slammed into the doorframe and settled eyes on Stiles; eyes that instantly bled into red.

"Derek," Stiles repeated, frowning as Derek came at him. Stiles was ready to be slammed into something, but instead Derek stopped before that happened and raised a surprisingly gentle hand to Stiles' face, fingers curling around the back of his head. "Derek, I'm fine." He wasn't.

"Liar," Derek growled out. His eyes searched every scrape, every bruise, every thing that was out of place. He was fuming, breathing heavy through his nose, trying to keep calm. "I can smell them on you. I can smell her on you."

Stiles swallowed. "Yes, thank you so much for reminded me that I was beat up by a chick. It's going to do wonders for my manlihood."

"_Stiles_." Derek's hand left his face and he pulled up Stiles' shirt from the hem, showing the ghastly bruise covering almost his entire right side. "I'm going to kill them."

Stiles' mind went into overdrive. "Derek, _no_. This was my fault for not listening to you." He couldn't move either of his arms very well—he had found another purpley bruise covering his left shoulder when he got out of the shower—so he just grabbed onto Derek's shirt over his stomach to keep him from bolting.

Derek met his eyes; they were still red.

"Or…maybe just kill them a little bit?" Stiles offered, doing his best to smile, even though it hurt. It didn't seem to work. Derek wasn't even touching him and it felt awful. "Derek, c'mon."

"You know why they did this." Derek's voice was dark and dangerous, his eyes unwavering, fury swirling within.

Stiles sucked in a breath. He knew exactly why. Before the real hitting had started, the Alpha bitch had mentioned something about the best way to get to an Alpha was through their mate. And Stiles apparently, was Derek's mate. He hadn't ever thought of it that way, but hell if this whole event didn't solidify that fact. Derek…Derek should be proud to know that Stiles kept up his brave act, spewing witty lines to unnerve and irritate until he was down on the floor and getting kicked in the side by someone wearing ungodly steel-toed boots.

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out. "Apparently you have some specific Alpha stench and it's all over me." Derek's eyes hardened and Stiles' watched his jaw muscles clench. "'Cause I'm your mate, I guess? You never…"

"I love you, Stiles," Derek said, voice a bit less threatening sounding.

Stiles nodded. Okay, so they didn't say it all the time, but the words had been said and felt for a while. It was _known._ "Yeah," he said, wondering where this was going.

"They came at you, to get to me, because they knew. And you…you're a human, Stiles! I told you not to go off on your own!" His voice rose and Stiles glanced nervously at the open door, knowing his dad was downstairs. His dad…who had apparently called Derek because Stiles couldn't.

"I know!" Stiles countered, though he couldn't quite reach the right octave to sound as bothered by this as Derek.

"You don't understand. She'll keep coming for you."

"I understand _completely_." Stiles swallowed. "Derek…"

"Why didn't you tell me this happened to you?" Derek asked, the red of his eyes fading back to their normal green. He touched the least bruised side of Stiles' face tentatively.

"She…she threatened to hurt you if I did," Stiles said, voice even.

Derek's eyes were on Stiles' lips, but they moved to his eyes at the confession. "I can handle myself," he said, even though it didn't need to be voiced. They both knew it to be true. "I had to hear that you got beaten up from your dad."

"Yeah," Stiles blinked, pressing his palm against Derek's abs. "I know, I should have told you. But…I couldn't, okay? Because her whole pack were huge burly guys and all you've got is a bunch of teenagers and you're alone in that house, okay? I was…I was scared."

Derek's face softened for the first time. "I'm going to stop them." He brushed a thumb across Stiles' skin.

"If…if you kill their Alpha, what happens?" Stiles asked, uncertainly. "Will one of them…or would they be…?"

"Stiles, I will stop them," Derek repeated. "They will pay for doing this to you."

"Thank you, for running off to defend my honor, really, I enjoy it," Stiles said sarcastically. This wouldn't be the first time that he was more embarrassed than anything for being human. It was his choice to stay this way. He didn't want to become a wolf…mostly because of what it would do to his dad. He had thought about it; even talked to Derek about it. Those conversations ended in Derek saying he would _never_ and Stiles would just have to be human because otherwise he wouldn't be Stiles. Derek could get poetic when he wanted.

Derek frowned and kissed the corner of Stiles' mouth before burying his face in the crook of his neck. Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and slipped his right arm around Derek's warmth because that was as much as he could move that side and his other hand smoothed down Derek's hair—Stiles wouldn't dare call it petting after he made that mistake the first time—and pushed his face into Derek's leather-clad shoulder.

"You need to smell like you again, I can't stand it," Derek's breath was hot on Stiles' neck.

Stiles almost shivered. "I'm sorry?" He offered, though his voice was nearly lost. He was suddenly oh so tired.

Derek pulled Stiles flush against him—Stiles chose to bunch his hand in Derek's shirt and ignore the pain from the movement—and nuzzled against Stiles' neck.

They just enjoyed the closeness, the way they totally molded together in some freakin' jigsaw puzzle way, the way Derek smelled like leather and forest and _new house_, and Derek was desperately trying to make Stiles _his_ again, and not have him tarnished by any other wolf.

"Stiles! Is Derek staying for dinner?" the Sheriff called up the stairs, being smart enough to know not to come up.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and sighed as Derek slowly released him ever so slightly so he could yell through the door. "Yeah!"

"I am?" Derek asked, once Stiles settled back and they were eye level.

"Yeah."

"I shouldn't. I should find the other pack," Derek protested.

Stiles shook his head. "No. Not tonight. You are going to stay and eat under the watchful eye of my dad and sleep with me to keep the monsters away," he said childishly. "Even though we all know you're the biggest and baddest monster of all."

"Stiles," Derek grumbled. He hated that word.

"You know what I mean," Stiles rolled his eyes, bumping Derek's nose with his own—he wanted to kiss him but really, it would be more pain than pleasure—and they walked downstairs. Though not before Derek pulled off his jacket and laid it over the back of the computer chair in an oddly calculating way.

The Sheriff surveyed the two of them. Stiles was used to it, and Derek had grown used to it during the dozen or so dinners he had over at the Stilinskis. The meal was quiet, Stiles didn't eat much, but it did feel good to get _something_ in his stomach that wasn't water and meds. Once they were finished, Derek actually got up and put all the plates in the sink and the Sheriff stood and put a hand on the back of Stiles' chair, leaning down to talk privately with him. Little did he know that Derek could hear him perfectly fine.

"He overreacted just the right amount," Stiles' dad said with a soft look, before lightly patting his son's shoulder and walking out of the room.

Stiles looked down at the table and grinned as much as his face would allow before glancing over at Derek, who was just folding his arms and looking at him quizzically. Stiles just waved a hand. "It's uh…it was a test." He stood up slowly. "You passed. With flying colors."

He walked into the living room, his dad sat in the armchair. "I'm going to sleep some, okay?" Stiles told him, not mentioning that Derek was staying because it was obvious that he was.

"Alright. I'm not working tonight," his dad said in return.

Stiles nodded and Derek trailed him back upstairs. Stiles couldn't even flop down on his bed, he had to set himself down gently like some old man.

"Okay so…maybe you can kill them," he muttered, sucking in a breath and forcing himself to lay back in one fluid motion. He hurt and things pulls and he let out the breath like a hiss. "Crap." He lay on his back, afraid to move and his feet were freezing.

Derek managed to get the rumpled comforter out from under Stiles' legs and pulled it over both of them.

"This is cozy," Stiles chuckled as Derek laid close—thankfully to his left , so there was substantially less pain on that side—and put a hand over Stiles' heart. "What're you doing?"

Derek shushed him with a rumble of something.

Stiles was quickly warming up and he moved his head ever so slightly to see a concentrated look on Derek's face from the dim light coming through from behind the blinds. It must have been light from the streetlamp, since Stiles had actually dozed for a few hours before his dad called Derek. "What're you doing?" he whispered again.

"Taking some of the pain away," Derek said in a soft voice that only Stiles ever heard.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, he thought that because he was laying still, things stopped hurting, but he moved his right arm a bit and it didn't hurt nearly as bad as it did earlier. "Oh," he said simply as Derek settled down. "You can do that?"

"Yeah." It was rare…it was easiest with animals, but it was mostly thought that the process was easiest between mates.

"How?" Stiles continued to whisper. He couldn't help himself.

"_Stiles_," Derek sighed.

"I have to ask you something."

Derek didn't try protesting. It was futile.

"We've never talked about it before."

Derek didn't say anything, but he felt Stiles' heart speed up under his palm.

"So…am I like…your mate? Like as in…_mate_ mate?"

Derek paused for a reason then. He mulled the words over in his head, before saying them. "Yes, you are my mate."

Stiles let out a small breath. "Oh…wow. Really? Isn't that a one time deal? Or is that just bogus? Do I have to do anything special now? I mean, I already have a key to your place and you let yourself in here all the time on your own…"

"Stiles, you don't have to _do_ anything. You…are just fine. As long as you don't scare me again."

"Scare you?"

"Yes. Going off on your own…letting this happen to you…your dad called and I thought the worst."

Stiles frowned at his ceiling. "So…if I'm your mate…are you mine? Even if I'm not a wolf? Is that like just a wolfword for boyfriend?"

Derek sighed. "I guess. It means that you are mine and I love you."

"I love you too, you know. You need to stop guilttripping me into saying that, I don't like it," Stiles pouted.

"If you weren't hurt I would smother you," Derek said. His eyes were shut and Stiles was sure Derek would fall asleep long before him.

"In a sexy way right? Like with your mouth."

"Yeah." A momentary pause. "How do you feel?"

"What?"

Derek moved his arm around Stiles, fingers and hand lightly gliding over Stiles' right side. "Does that hurt?"

"I don't know," Stiles huffed. "I'm high on meds and your wolflove, dude."

"Roll over."

"What? Derek…that was not an invitation for sex."

"Mind out of the gutter," Derek chuckled. "Onto your side."

Stiles did as he was told and Derek pulled them together, Stiles' back meeting his chest.

"Oh…okay, spooning is good," Stiles nodded, squirming to get comfortable.

Derek nestled himself close and let out that satisfying sighing, rumble sound. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and gave a small smile and his own sigh of making-Derek-happy-even-though-he-disobeyed-the-rules-and-got-himsef-beaten-up-but-Derek-forgave-him-and-would-soon-be-defending-Stiles'-honor-against-another-Alpha-because-he-was-Derek's-mate-and-Derek-loved-him. It was a sigh that held a long and not-so-complicated meaning, but hey, that was Stiles, he could never do anything simply.


End file.
